Kane didn’t think much of humans. But Uraktus now, old Urak had loved humans. As long as Kane could remember, Urak had been fascinated by the flimsy little things. He’d even tried to keep them as personal pets, despite the high price of human slaves in other parts of the universe…a price that was about to climb even higher.
But Kane hadn’t come to Earth for slaves this time. In the blood-stained seat beside him was Bota’s last gift to him-a chemist’s pack containing forty ampules waiting to be filled with Vahst, and all the materials Bota had thought he’d need to make it. All, of course, excepting dopamine, which would be supplied by the humans.
Some of Bota’s preparations were exceedingly strange. He’d apparently believed Kane would need to run a full tox-filter on every harvested human and he’d laid in enough Jotan pharmaceuticals to stock the Null’s medical bay, but he hadn’t thought to store any food or water. That was all right. Urak had schooled Kane thoroughly in survival. He’d make it long enough to make his Vahst, at any rate, and that was all that mattered.
Kane laid in the coordinates for Urak’s favorite hunting grounds by memory. It was a good spot, cool and green and wet, well-populated without being overrun, and easily navigated by foot. When he saw the trees rising up to envelope him, Kane imagined he could feel Urak’s hand resting on his shoulder, hear his father’s rough voice saying, ‘Feels like coming home, boy.’ And it did.
It was dark where he touched down. There was no one to see his ship land, and of course, once the shift-shield was on, no one would be able to see it even if a human were to walk right into it. That would probably present a whole new batch of complications if that ever were to happen, but in all the years Urak had been coming to Earth, it hadn’t happened yet. Some things you just had to learn to leave to fate.
Kane gathered his pack, matched the locator on his wrist to the ship’s coordinates, synchronized his computer to Earth’s peculiar mode of time (why twenty-four hours, for hell’s sake? They didn’t even count all twenty-four, they counted twelve hours twice), locked everything down and stepped out into Earth’s warm, pleasant night. He was calm, he was organized, and he was ready to hunt.
When day broke, it would be the first day of what the human media would call the Summer of Hell, and Kane would be partly responsible for the name. It was the sort of thing that might ordinarily give him a tickle, if he were aware of it. But when the sun came up, it would also bring the first day of the worst run of record-breaking temperatures in more than a hundred years for that part of the world, and that being the case, Kane would soon be about as far from ticklish as a Jotan could get.
*
It was never a good thing to get a summons from Fleet Command first thing in the morning. It was worse to get one on the first day back from deep-space duty. And worst of all was to receive the addendum that one had just been promoted to sek’ta, which qualified one for top-risk solitary duty.
Tagen Pahnee, fourth-rank officer in the Jotan Security Fleet rolled over in his bed to find just such a summons (with just such an addendum) flashing on the monitor of his media station. He stared at it for a long time.
His off-world tour had lasted a full year this time. There had been no homeworld leave. This was his first opportunity to sleep in his own bed. He could still feel the vibrations of the ship’s engines humming in his bones, and now he had to wake up to this.
“Congratulations,” he muttered, flinging back the covers. “You have just become expendable.” He rose to look for a clean uniform. If one was about to be drafted into suicide detail, one might as well dress for the occasion.
Too short a time later, Tagen walked into Fleet Headquarters and was swiftly ushered to a private debriefing room. He was the only one there. That was disconcerting.
Tagen sat down and waited, thinking quiet and rueful thoughts of his bed at home. Eventually, the door hissed open and admitted two figures. One was a female, wearing the white robes of a High Magistrate. The other, a harried-looking male holding a sealed supply pack. Intriguing. Tagen stood up and began to raise his hand.
“Don’t salute,” the Magistrate said, looking pained. “Formalities would be grotesque, all things considered. I’ve seen your record. I imagine I got you out of bed. Were you alone?”
The question caught him off guard. For a moment, he wondered if she were flirting with him. “Yes,” he said warily.
“You have no personal obligations tying you to Jota at this time? No adoption procedures underway? Are you breeding?”
Short of asking him if his death would inconvenience anyone else, this was as straightforward as could be. “No,” he said.
The Magistrate flicked her eyes at the man accompanying her. “This is vey Venekus, from the Human Studies division,” she said, and sat down. She did not bother to introduce herself. “There has been an incident.”
Tagen took his place at the table and folded his hands atop it patiently.
“I’m sure you know who Kanetus E’Var is,” the Magistrate said. She passed a hand wearily over her eyes and then takked her claws hard against the table. “You may not know that he was arrested several days ago.”
“I did not.” But he had known that E’Var had not been captured when the Yevoa Null was raided, which put him head and shoulders above many of his colleagues. If the ‘incident’ involved E’Var, it was going to be a scratchy one. Leaving aside the simple danger of the man, most of the public believed him already imprisoned. Of course, since the Magistrate had just admitted E’Var was in custody, Tagen couldn’t imagine how anything serious enough to qualify as an ‘incident’-
“His ship never arrived at Tyuk station. Our initial investigations prove his ship never came through the Far-Point Gate.”
Ah. Tagen leaned back in his chair and considered her. “Do we know how the escape was managed?”
“I have not said there was an escape.” The stiffness in her words belied the frustration evident on her face. She looked away. “The council’s official stance is that his transport vessel broke up mid-Gate. Even now, the Fleet is searching for his wreckage, but…” She trailed off, lifting and dropping one hand to show the futility inherent in that effort. Space was wide and wreckage from a mid-Gate explosion could materialize just about anywhere. “I just want to be sure.”
Tagen considered the wisdom of asking his next question, but ultimately decided that truth would serve him better than tact in this situation. “Why so much interest in E’Var’s whereabouts? He has no ship. The rest of the Yevoa Null’s crew is safely imprisoned. His father’s reputation may afford him some protection for now, but smugglers have short memories and little loyalty. He’ll turn up.”
“Perhaps.” The Magistrate continued to glare at the far wall.
“What makes you think he’s gone to Earth?” Tagen asked finally.
She answered like a bureaucrat, with another question. “Did you know that the council has agreed to decommission Earth’s Gate?” Without waiting for an answer, she stood up and began to pace around the small room, her magistrate’s robe flapping around her ankles. “It’s going to come down next season. Part of the new government’s self-proclaimed ‘war’ on drugs. Ha. As if there weren’t enough humans hidden away in breeding facilities all over So-Quaal space to keep the Vahst trade alive and thriving for another thousand years.”
Tagen waited.
The Magistrate shot another glance at the scientist who had accompanied her, and then returned to her seat, “What I say now is never to leave this room.” She stared Tagen down for a second or two in silence, and then said, “Uraktus E’Var was constructing his own Gate.”